In Public View
by Kyd Chyme
Summary: Everyday life, and then some. Because even heroes have to deal with the general public sometimes, even when they really wish everyone would just leave them alone... Long One-Shots Ch7 Enough
1. Drive Through

**Disclaimer: I do not own Young Justice.**

In Public View

Drive Through

"Hi, and welcome to Burger Boy. What can I get you tonight?" The voice was young, female, and bored. "Can I interest you in –"

"I'll have three number two's, four large fries, four chicken taco-beef burrito combos, three four-by-fours, four mini-cheese pizzas, and four orders of the chicken strips… And four double stacked cheese burgers. Two without pickles, go light on the onions with those two as well. And can I get get extra napkins?"

"Sir?"

Roy rubbed the base of his neck, trailing his fingers across where he'd caught some piping against a few hours ago. "And whatever doesn't have caffeine in it is good for the combo drinks." Talk about your rough landings. "And coffee. Two coffees; one with two creams, one black." How long have they been awake now? Two days? Two and a half?

The speaker released a short, huffy breath. "One moment please."

"Mmmhuh." Roy wondered if they'd have to re-break Wally's finger. Roy really only had a few seconds to try to reset the damn thing before they were on the move again. But did you really need pinkies anyway?

"Kid, what are you pulling here?"

Roy rested his chin against the wheel. From the back Robin mumbled something about the man being in the state of un-whelmedness. Even for Robin that was stretching it. Kid needed some sleep. "Excuse me?" They all did.

"You heard me! Now get out of here before I call the cops."

Roy yawned hugely and slowly crept the car up to the first window. The manager was waiting. He gave a disgusted grunt at the pretty red car as it rolled in, only to have his scowl drop as soon as he caught sight of the damaged vehicle.

Roy sighed. _Bullets and street lights are bitches on the hardware_.

And then he saw the young man in the driver's seat.

"S-Speedy?"

Roy frowned. He was too tired for this. "It's Red Arrow now."

The manager stared.

"So, how about that order?" He jerked his thumb to the slumped form of Kid Flash, half lidded and smearing the passenger seat with weird, blackish mud, "Kid needs to refuel before heading out again."

The manager blinked.

"It's been a long day, you know," Pointedly, Roy raised his eye brows, "and it's not over yet."

The manager nodded dumbly, "Of course. Yeah, right away."

A small murmur came from the back seat. Already past the repercussion point, the manager tipped his balding head through the drive through window just enough to catch sight of a small black and red figure laying face-down across the seat.

Roy sighed. "Hey, you guys have any pie left?"

**Hey guys, I've always liked those moments where the heroes are interacting with the general public on more than an "I'll save your baby, ma'am!" level. So, here be one-shots (I seem to be doing that a lot lately…huh) It'll probably mostly be Roy, Wally, and Dick stuff, but hey, you never know… I'd like to see some feedback or feel free to send me some ideas, which would be epically cool all on it's own.**

**-Kyd Chyme**


	2. Nose Bleed

**Disclaimer: I do not own Young Justice or any of it's characters…**

In Public View

Nose Bleed

"Kid Flash! Wow! Can I get your autograph?"

Wally kept his back partially turned to the squeaky voice and caught a glimpse of pigtailed orange hair and a spattering of freckles. _Bad timing_. "Uh, kid, I don't think I can right now…"

"Please!" She wined, "You've always been my favorite!"

"Uh…" Wally scanned the crowd and waved over the first patient-free paramedic he saw, "Can you please get me a towel and some water?"

"I'm so sorry," A new voice entered the chime, "it'll only take a moment…" The mother.

_Crap._

"Yeah, yeah, it's fine. Really. I just need to take care of something first." Why wouldn't it stop _bleeding_?

From the corner of his eye he saw her fold her skinny arms across her chest. "Look, if you don't want to give her the autograph–"

Wally sniffed heavily. "No, really, just give me a sec."

Wally eyed the returning paramedic through the watching crowd.

_Stop! Stop! Stop it! _But it just _wouldn't_.

He could run away. Just run to a dark corner and figure out what the hell was going on or get some food in him to speed things along… And then make an unwelcome headline for the evening news. _"Kid Flash refuses little girls request"_ or another piece of how damaging the profession was to young heroes or something. Maybe the mom would give him a piece of her mind via fifteen minute mode. Wally bet that would cause a media frenzy all on its own. His Uncle wouldn't like that at all.

And where the heck was Flash anyway? The thug-y bad guys were out cold and the cops had all but thrown them into the waiting police cars when Wally had least seen his Uncle…

"KF! Run-a-way at two o'clock!"

Wally whipped around and started to bolt for the still cuffed escapee when the man tripped over his own feet and landed face down on the pavement. He didn't get up.

_Nice. _"Huh."

And then the little girl started screaming, her frantic mother grabbing at her and covering her widened eyes with a single bird-boned hand, the other placed firmly across her own mouth.

The crowd all took a step back as the paramedic mercifully broke through. A few cameras flashed.

Wally took the white towel and bottled water, dumping the latter over his face and neck until the blood running from his nose was diluted almost transparent.

"Thanks."

And he ran away.

**Some feedback would be wonderful, I wasn't so confident about this one…**

**-KydChyme**


	3. Food Poisoning

**Disclaimer: I do not own Young Justice or any of it's characters…**

In Public View

Food Poisoning

Wally burst through the bathroom entrance and flew so hard into one of the stalls that the swing back caused the door handles to detach.

"Holy sh–!" Someone cried with a panicked back-peddle fall into one off white and finger-smeared walls of the bathroom.

"Dude, that's _Kid Flash_!"

Wally retched into the toilet and gagged at the smell.

Utter silence, and then: "Get you phone out. Now."

Wally stifled a groan and tried to get back to his feet with a stomach churning effort that had him doubled up in an instant.

"This'll blow everyone at school's mind."

"Forget that! This is going to be on the flipping news!"

Wally dropped to his knees, "No really, I'm _fine_." He inhaled sharply, "Thanks for the– uuurghhchh"

"Dude. We're going to be _famous_."

**Short short and short, but I'm working on a really long one…almost done, too (=**

**-KydChyme**


	4. Another's Choice

**Disclaimer: I do not own Young Justice.**

In Public View

Another's Choice

**1:37 am, Gotham**

Robin was tired. He'd been at the Mountain for almost two weeks straight, hunched over a keyboard and writing new programming codes for older software the League wanted to update.

There had been a time when Robin would have jumped at the chance to help the League this way. It was one of his _things._ But now all he could see it as was something to keep away from patrolling and missions.

"_Now boys. Boys. They have this sort of attitude to them, you know? Like in the way they walk, "Hurrrrghhhh!" and then they stretch they arms all out, "Look, mom! I'm a man!" –only they're still three feet tall and have a face full of peach-fuzz. Now what's really funny is when they start checking the girls out. They'll be hanging with their 'homies' all cool and suddenly this girl and her friend will walk by and they'll all just freeze. 'Oh, yeaaaaahh, momma.'"_

It wouldn't have been that bad if he'd been allowed to do it on his own time instead of practically being locked away in that room for a week and a half…

"_Of course girls have the attitude thing too. The prissy finger-flaring walk, and then the 'You. Have. Made. Me. Upset.' Now when I was in high school I wasn't too bright when it came to girls. When they got like that I'd say something like, 'Well, I'll try not to lose any sleep then.' Ha! Yeah… Yeah, teenagers are great."_

Okay, okay. To be fair, it wasn't like they could just call up Geek Squad for something like this –and most of the League members with the ability to rewrite it properly were too valuable to pull from the field like that.

Besides, he was on his way home now anyway. Job done. _Well_ done.

Still,no one, not even him, appreciated going from being perched on an uncomfortable swivel chair to being jarred against a bumpy road on a motorcycle.

"_So there was this one kid –eighteen years old– and he's driving down this highway in Arizona, and he suddenly sees a pair of head lights heading right towards him. And they're coming fast. Too fast. So he tries to get out of their way, turn the wheel real hard. Only the car loses control and my little brother Tommy ends up smashing into the off ramp at seventy-fives miles per hour."_

Robin had been trying to loosen his shoulders a bit to keep himself from getting too tense and over-steering the bike when he first heard the music.

Loud, angry, and _close_. So close.

"_He hit it so hard that his body snapped _theseat belt in two,_ and he flew forwards into a two-ton impact of wall_. _It took them two hours to pick all of him up. It turns out the other car was full of kids, the average age being thirteen or fourteen years old. They had been drinking, smoking, and were on other drugs. They laughed as they drove away from my brother, rowdy and then just gone."_

Robin caught view of a sporty white car as it rounded the corner behind him practically sideways and accelerated forwards.

Hurriedly, Robin flashed his brights twice in succession, but the driver didn't seem to take the hint.

He was running out of options. He couldn't switch over into the next lane because of the incoming traffic and he couldn't make it to the next right hand turn fast enough without becoming pavement dust from the turn.

There was nowhere to go.

"_In court they received _three months' probation. _Three months'_ probation_ for Tommy's death. They said they were too stoned and drunk to be responsible for what happened. So whose fault is it then! Whose it to blame for Tommy? Who killed my brother?" _

Behind him the music blared, loud and louder still. Someone was laughing and trying to shout in time with the already unintelligible lyrics. Cars to his left swerved away from of the car behind him, fearing he'd cross over into their lane.

Robin's breathing sped. Trapped. He was trapped.

"_Who killed him?"_

The only place to go was into a wall or under that car. He couldn't slow down without being hit, couldn't look too hard without risking them gaining on him. Somewhere in front of him was a shop with glass windows. The metal bars weren't too thick, right? With the bike in front…

He would probably die, but it was all he had.

"_So they get off because they couldn't be held responsible. Oh, they were responsible for his death. They _chose_ to drink and drive. They _chose_ to get high and then get behind the wheel. They chose, and my brother died because they _chose wrong."

Robin accelerated and clinched the bike hard with his legs, the slight reflection of glass coming into view, the side walk and road that separated him from it looking farther than he remembered it being...

"_So what do I have to do? Do I have to beg?_ _Please_. Please. _Just don't. Okay? Just don't decide that for other people, for fathers and mothers and brothers and sisters. Friends, sons, daughters. It's not fair that he's dead. It's not fair and I can't bring him back and they can't do it either. He's just gone."_

Robin screamed and threw his motorcycle over the curb and aimed for the glass.

**Alright, so justification: people were watching. Yeah, the people in oncoming traffic were definitely watching. So, really, it was in public view.**

**Also, the story about the eighteen year old victim is not my story; it's that of Gary Zelesky, an excellent public speaker, author, and such, who makes quite the comedian. And like many comedians, has a tragic history to tell. And I'm serious.**

"**Everything human is pathetic. The secret source of humor is sorrow, not joy."**

**-Mark Twain**

**See?**

**Lemme know your thoughts.**

**_KydChyme **


	5. Known Player

**Disclaimer: I do not own Young Justice.**

In Public View

Known Player

It was supposed to be a simple robbery. Eight armed men, masked in varied Halloween costume monsters attacking the Medical Science Research Facility. All in broad day light.

Amateurs, they'd been told.

They'd been told wrong.

Voices shouted from every direction. Police throwing orders and tossing information while civilians either scattered from the mayhem surrounding them or managed to get in the way "Flash! South entrance explosion!"

"They're trying to close off the exits!"

"I'm on it. Kid! You got things out here, I'm going in."

And just like that he was alone, and as soon as he was it was only natural everything went to hell.

He _felt_ them more than anything else. Odd waves of energy that didn't quite feel like the buzzing frequency of sound. This was volatile in a new, unsettlingly controlled way.

The energy moved around him, _through_ him and swarming into the area, tangible and think against his hyper sensitive skin.

It almost felt _alive_.

And it definitely felt dangerous.

"Wha…" And then it hit him full force, heat moving into him like a sickly, invisible poison. _This _is what the robbery was about. The facility had possessed something they should not have or they had created something in the unknown…

Wally fought against it, vibrating his body hard and sighing in relief when the waves jumped away from him in a surrounding halo of heat.

He could match the energy, move even faster and maybe contain it until his Uncle could help him out…

Around him the waves pushed forwards, moving and oozing power until Wally was forced to exert himself to his peak just to keep up.

_It's quicker than me._

And it _was._

The heat was too much, overwhelming and everywhere. Pushing around him and into him until his thoughts drifted away from him and his body jittered with waves of panicked convulsions.

_Faster._

He willed his legs to carry him; faster and harder and _more._

Wally bee-lined to the wave's outer reaches and shot 'round and 'round until the energy sunk away from his movements in a backtracked hurry.

_Harder._

He could feel the muscles of his arms and legs shredding from exertion, his lungs having long ago given up on supplying him blood with oxygen, and his brain almost unable to catch up with his body's movements.

He was destroying his body.

He wasn't ready to move this quick.

And neither was the wave.

In an oddly soundless increments the energy contracted again and again, forced back by his maddening pace until it was a heavily pressured ball of barely controlled energy.

A blurred red figure shot into the inner circle and clamped down on the energy in a single swoop.

And then like a planet being removed from its orbit, Wally lost the pressure that had been holding him and shot forwards against the pavement until the tar stuck to him.

Everything was slow around him police officers seemingly stopping their mad sprints as he ran and ran, faster and faster still. Asphalt tore and melted beneath his feet, sirens went unheard to his ears. Even sound was to slow for him. The _world_ was moving too slow for him.

The red blur trailed him, leaving a gray block in his wake as he perused. Wally couldn't feel his legs as he moved, the red figure matching him impossibly.

He was struck from behind the enough force to knock down entire buildings and push planes into takeoff on a runway.

His legs collapsed from under him. Wally wheezed in air that was too slow in coming to meet his body's demand. Black crept in on his vision until the dull gray of the cement was nearly completely gone. He fell to his elbows and clawed uselessly with his fingers for purchase, anything to keep him connected to consciousness.

Arms were suddenly wrapped around him, flipping him on his back and pushing back his head and shoving things over his mouth.

"Breathe Kid, just breathe now."

_Uncle Barry._

Everything was spinning, but even he could tell Flash was pumping the ventilator so hard it was past the point of hyperventilation for normal humans. Enough to make a normal pair of lungs explode form the sheer amount being taken in. But Wally's body needed every bit that was being taken in. That and more still. He reached up a single hand and pushed the mask harder still over his mouth. The skin of his hand was shredded. Warm blood dripped onto his face. He didn't dare close his eyes.

"Breathe, Kid. That's right. Just like that. Breathe."

They stayed like that forever. Seconds, minutes, hours –he couldn't tell.

_That was really fast, _he wanted to say.

"I know." His Uncle told him anyway, "I _know_."

_Too fast._

His Uncle looked around him uncomfortably and returned to him with a shaky smile, "Come on Kid. Time to get up."

Wally shook his head slightly and gasped out a burning, "Not yet."

"Not this time. We're going _now_." He looked nervous now, impatient with that fragile grin. _A liars grin._

"Flash?"

"Yes?"

"I can't move my legs."

A slow burst of light came from one side. Then another. And another still. Slow flashes came in from all angles, odd drawn out shuttering noises followed in their wake, back on another sound, louder and more constant.

"What is that?"

"It's nothing, Kid. Now get a grip on me, I'm going to carry you." His Uncle clutched him tighter and turned his face away from him. Wally couldn't discern his ridiculously slow comments, too sluggish for him to understand.

But he caught the tine. _Nervous. Afraid. _

"I'm too big. Just one more second."

"Calm down." Flash commanded softly, "Just hang on, okay? Can you do that?"

"What?" Wally's body jerked violently, "Yeah. Okay, Flash."

Wally concentrated on his loud breathing and watched his Uncle speak out slowly again, "Hey Flash?"

"Mmm."

"That noise sounds like the whale from _Finding Nemo_."

Flash didn't even look at him oddly. "I guess it does."

Everything was _off_.

"What is that noise?"

Another flash of light followed the Nemo whale. Louder now.

"It's nothing, okay, Kid."

_Shouting. It's shouting._

"What's going on?"

"Nothing. Just calm down."

Wally tried to sit up, "What are you talking about? I'm fine."

Flash pushed him back down firmly. "Okay."

"Stop it!" More flashes. "I said I was fine!"

"I know. You're fine, you're fine."

"What is that noise?"

"Nothing. Just breathe. Slowly, now."

It was the same thing, over and over again. Panicked and loud. Again and again.

_Concentrate._

"I feel fine."

"Freeeze!"

"Kid, stop it."

"oooaaarrr Ihh'll"

"Stop what? Let me up, I said I'm fine!"

"bbhhee foouurcessed"

"Kid –Kid!"

"twhhoooo oopphhe-"

Wally winced as his Uncle flipped him suddenly. A dark shadow of an upraised arm came into view and disappeared just as quickly.

"-eeenn"

His Uncle's arm. His Uncle's fist.

"fiiireee!"

…_he promised he'd never hurt me._

And then there was darkness.

"Stacey Starkweather here with the breaking follow up of today's dramatic series of events. Striking down his own protégé as Kid Flash appeared to _lose control_ of his super speed. The situation escalated to the point where police officers were ordered to train their weapons on the young hero in anticipation of Flash being unable to control the boy. As soon as the Scarlet Speedster seemed to have caught wind of the order he knocked out his protégé moved an unconscious Kid Flash to an unknown location.

"One of the big questions here is how safe are we from our _own_ heroes? The Central City Police Force have admitted to reporters that they're have been few reports of Flash ever reaching the speeds his protégé climbed to earlier today.

"One witness commented, "It's a well-known fact that Kid Flash can't reach the same speeds as Flash can –and if he could cause that level of devastating power then I couldn't even begin to imagine the kind of overwhelming havoc the Flash could cause… It's a scary thought..."

Wally flicked the off button on the remote and suck into the over-stuffed arm chair with a scratchy groan. "They're afraid of me."

His Uncle came up behind him and rested his calloused hands lightly on Wally's slumped shoulders, "They just don't like feeling helpless, Kid. It'll blow over in a few weeks, you'll see."

Wally stared ahead, "Why?"

The hand on his shoulder squeezed lightly, "Because they like a known player."

**If it confuses you, than read it again. It does make sense if you take the time to get it (In which the reader must discern reality for themselves) **

**(=**

**Thoughts?**

**-KydChyme **


	6. Words with Walls

**Disclaimer: I do not own Young Justice.**

In Public View

Words with Walls

Wally West went to a pretty typical high school. Lots of boring teachers, and some good ones. Kids and _kids_. Nothing too crazy even with the fact that it was a Super's city.

So this was big news.

Rumor had it that a(some) young hero(es) was(were) among them. Watching them for a whole week. No one really knew why, just a few bits here and there that some threat or other was given by some crazy or other and the Justice League was on the call.

No one seemed particularly concerned about the actual threat.

They'd look around, trying to catch the new face in the hall. They convinced themselves they saw them: the girl with long yellow hair (_But I heard she was Asian –well then who bleaches it out? No, it _looks_ natural_. A no way she's Asian. No one has ever seen her close up… ), the boy with caramel skin and grey eyes (_That's not right, his are brown and he's been here all year!_), or a boy with a small frame and an unsettling smile (_Don't _say_ that. What if it is him? He's from Gotham and works with Batman. So? So he's _dangerous_._)

Sometimes the students thought they had caught a glimpse in the hall ways. They were never right.

Reality was that Robin was here for only one day, though according to sources, this was day two. Also, he was in uniform and alone. Very alone. Also, possibly, _maybe _a little –not stuck– but unable to move from his current position at the moment.

It had been kinda (slang to be said -proper, not written –_apparently_ not) cool at first, crawling (poor word choice, but not slithering nor slinking) through vents and listening in on people as they spoke to each other. A few (supposedly three, but up for interpretation) times he even found himself sitting in the back of classrooms during lessons, no one noticing until one teacher froze (as/like ice _is_, but instantly, so not literally) and dropped the trio of white board markers he had held up against the slick (but not _moist_, just slippery in its own right) math scribbled surface. _Why are you in my class room? Why don't you go pick on basic math? Or the history of the ancient world or something… _

But the teacher hadn't said anything, just picked up the markers (they mark, like a bookmark marks a page, but more general. Markers. Location tellers. Leaving proof of existence.) and continued on. Not one student noticed he was sitting on the back of a desk chair in their class. Just before the bell rang Robin scurried up into the vent again, leaving a blinking teacher behind and a class room full of oblivious children in his wake.

Which is sort of how he ended up like this.

Robin was not comfortable.

Com-fort-able. He didn't get that one at all.

He could stand on his hands until the blood rushing into his head blackened his sight. His legs could carry him for days and his arms could support double his weight for hours. He'd never even heard of someone as flexible as him and he could almost outrun _Batman_.

_Comfort_-able.

But right now, he was not comfortable at all.

Able to feel/be in a state of comfort.

_Oh. _

He was small. He'd always been small. He loved it and hated it and had mostly accepted that yes, yes in fact one day he _would_ grow and it most-definitely would happen. One day.

He hated growing. It made his body uncomfortable and gawky. All off balance limbs with nowhere to go and everywhere to flail.

_Not_ feeling the aster.

He considered calling Wally. It was _his_ stupid school after all. His stupid school with it's stupid tiny not-Robin sized vents.

But he couldn't. It was pride, maybe. Or embarrassment. Stubbornness. TheheirofBatmandoes_not_gettrappedinventshaftsness. Whatever.

He took in a deep breath. No squirming, no freaking. Robin wasn't claustrophobic, per se, but he didn't really like the idea of being stuck with his knees up against his ears with a metal wall three inches from his nose.

Robin closed his eyes. More breathing. Listening.

Kids were still milling (or wandering, but with a little bit more purpose while holding on to the aimless idea) around in the hall. Should he wait until they were in class? Would they notice the noise more now, or then?

More breathing.

He had fit in the dimensions of this ventilation shaft six months ago. It had been tight then, but very doable. Do-able. Able to do.

It really wasn't fail that a word like _doable_ got a place in the Webster's when a word like _consistability_ couldn't get past a spell check. Consistability. Consist-ability. The ability to be consistent. It was a good word with good intentions. Not fair at all.

More breathing. A little struggling and a lot of squirming.

_Squinched_ was the word. He was squinched. Not precisely squished (to squeeze or squash) or stuck (which has too many meanings if Artemis, Wally, Kaldur, and heRobinhimDick? could all do _it_ at the same moment with only slightly different verb tenses used)

His numb fingers open and closed. Reaching (out towards) and pushing (force) until the limb was almost free…

"Dude, _all_ _day_ it was Robin-this and Aqualad(Aqua Lad?)-that. 'Oh, Superboy (Super-Boy?) is soooooooo hawt!' But anything about Kid Flash(_much_ better)? Nope. _Nothing._ I mean (meanmeanmeanings) I'm their hero. I _belong_ to this city, and it's like they don't even want me around!" Wally leaned in, close enough that Dick could make out the freckles that dipped into his hairline. "Dude, be honest. Is it the hair?" He flushed red, "Maybe I should dye it brown or something."

Dick blinked, "I like (enjoy aesthetically in this case) redheads."

More blinking, this time not from him.

"Dick," Wally said slowly, "are you okay? You seem a little off."

_Off key. Off kilter. On off. Off on. _

And it wasn't from what he said. There was no shame, not between them. The next epic bromance(so commonly used, and very neglected) of the superhero world.

"Yeah, just a little cramped up." He kicked a pebble with his shoe. They were both dressed in civies(slang, widely accepted, but not kosher) now. "But next time I'm 'hidingoutformyowngood' I'm just going to head over to Six Flags or something."

**So, there it is. Wow. Been a while. So, I need help. Ideaslike help. Thoughts? Ideas? Themes? Do send. Please, 'cause I don't want this fic to die and sad, withering death.**

**Feel free to leave comments,**

**KydChyme**


	7. Enough

**Disclaimer: I do not own Young Justice.**

In Public View

Enough

…

Disasters _sucked_. They were, in a sense, worse than the crazy villains prancing around in brightly colored spandex, threatening to blow up/destroy/take over/kidnap/rob/kill/vandalize or whatever. They sucked because they were not a force of thought, but a force of nature.

There was no thought behind their actions. They just _did._

Or some else did anyway.

And this was looking very much like a _someone_.

He was so sick of this.

Wally had been feeling a little out of it. Nothing so bad that people were concerned or something. Just moody, so Dick had told him earlier to throw on the civies and get ready to head out.

Also... Also, no one else on the team knew about the divorce. Not even Artemis.

Of course, technically, and as far as his parents were concerned, neither did he. In fact, he was pretty sure they were going to tell him tonight.

Tonight.

After eighteen and a half years with him they should really know how to hide things from him better by now.

Yeah, tonight was going to suck.

And then they had seen the fire.

Both had frozen for an instant, just smelling the familiar trail of heavy ash in the air as the fire raged a few blocks down, clearly visible from one of the upper floors of an apartment building. Dick had actually taken a step towards the building before Wally got ahold of him and pulled him into the nearest alley to at least _change_ first. Maybe if it was something else he would have let it go, just run in with the civies on and get out before someone got a good look at their faces. But not this. Not when the fire retardant material of their costumes could be the difference between life and a closed casket burial.

And then, even though Dick really was getting kinda big and people were always making fun of them for it, he let Dick latch his arms around his shoulders and press his no-longer-quite-so-boney knees into Wally's sides.

Wally ran.

_Run run run._

…

The air was heavy to breathe, scorching his throat as he inhaled, making him dizzy. Wally _hated_ fires. He hated the way the heat pressed down on him, surrounding the skin like a smothering blanket. He hated the way the breaking buildings would let off embers that burned his face, formed trails of burns down his arms, and messed up the flame resistant material of his uniform.

He saw Dick flint in the window he just broke to get inside, cape held over the lower half of his face as he assessed the situation. "You take left and we stay on the comms." Wally nodded, halfway gone before Dick even finished his sentence.

It was bad. Not in the building collapsing sense, which was nice, but the so-structurally-sound-no-air-is-coming way, which actually really sucked. It hurt to breath, the heat of the air burning his lungs and making his eyes water uncontrollably.

Wally West really, really didn't like fires.

Good thing Kid Flash clearly _loved _them, otherwise he was sure he wouldn't constantly seem to find the nearest thing in flames.

Wally coughed. This wasn't how he had wanted to spend tonight.

Hot flakes of wall or burning _something_ stuck to his face like tacky glue that couldn't be wiped away and everything smelled heavy and dense.

_Run run run._

It wasn't a big space, but he couldn't see too well, even with his goggles.

"KF!"

Wally whirled around and followed the sound of Dick's hoarse voice through the smoke. As soon as he was in front of him Dick was practically throwing a very out of it looking woman at him. "Get her down!"

Wally gripped the woman by her waist and tried to be gentle when he tossed her over his shoulders. She coughed faintly, "My daughter locked herself in her room."

"Don't worry," Dick told her, "I'll get her out."

She gave a small nod, then, "My son…"

Dick turned his head as his mouth turned into a stiff line. He didn't say anything.

Wally didn't ask, and then he was running again.

_Run run run_.

In the time Wally had gotten the woman down safely and zoomed up again Dick was at the apartment's exit, a bundle of wet blankets scooped up in his arms. "Girl." He informed him before turning back into the rooms, "Not breathing."

Wally drew in a ragged and took off again.

These days, running was all he ever did.

…

Wally figured that if it had been anyone else, Dick probably would have told them to wait for him outside. Not so much because he knew he didn't need the help, but because he didn't like the constant worry of making sure they were okay too. Probably a Bat thing.

But Dick never told Wally to stay back. At this point Wally liked to think they've known each other so long they could move together without asking or telling the other to do something.

Still, Wally wasn't sure _what_ to make of the look on Dick's face, blankly furious and looking vaguely homicidal as he struggled with a much larger person who appeared to be making an attempt at bashing-in Boy Wonder's head.

"The girl?"

But Dick just shook his head and jabbed an elbow into the stomach of the dead weight he was dragging. Immediately the other boy tossed up his head and tried to shove Dick away.

"Hey! Knock it off!" Wally demanded. Dick gave him a look and shrugged, letting some of the person's weight fall onto Wally's shoulders.

_Jeez._

This was probably the other kid. All two-hundred plus pounds of him. Wally spit out a chunk of long, scraggly blond hair that fell into his mouth when the boy turned his head.

Yeah. Fires _sucked._

…

Dragging the kid to safety was an adventure in all of its own. Occasionally the lump would throw out a fist or launch a foot their way. Wally gave up on yelling at him, and Dick had been hitting back long before even that.

But now, here on the ground, firemen with blessedly wonderful oxygen mask running towards them, was when Dick lost it.

Dick whirled around on the teen and shoved him backwards, "You _idiot_! What the _hell_ were you thinking?"

The teen stumbled back a few steps and waved his arms out in an attempt to regain his balance. His small glazed eyes took Dick in. Comparatively short and hunched over with coughs and burns. The large boy took two heavy steps towards him and drew back a meaty fist. The punch never would have landed on Dick, smoke-dizzy slow or not. The boy was too uncoordinated in the smoke and very likely drug induced haze that were messing with his vision.

"Robin! Whatthehellareyoudoing?"

Dick coughed, "HE STARTED THE DAMN FIRE."

Wally froze.

Then boy launched himself at Dick.

Wally was on him before he fully realized what he was doing. He threw out an arm to block a meaty punch and yanked his raised hand higher and threw a balled fist into the boys rounded stomach. He doubled over and was suddenly being thrown over Wally's head in a whirling motion so fast he almost didn't realize it until he hit the ground.

Wally felt like he was on fire and suddenly everything was just _too much_. The stupid divorce and the stupid Speed Force and stupid him for not being faster, for not _getting _faster anymore and this stupid, stupid boy for starting something destructive and deadly and maybe killing a little kid tonight.

But then flashing lights were surrounding him, and a pair of gloved hands on his shoulders turned him away from the light. "KF…"

Another camera flash went off. Wally froze. The bright lights of news cameras were on them, other people occasionally clicking away on their digitals. In the dark his could make out a few with the tell-tale red light that meant it was recording.

Come for the fire, stay for the heroes.

He hated that. The way the media pushed in on them, calling them good and bad, wrong and justified, incompetent and tomorrow's leaders. Who were they to judge? They didn't know _anything._

He didn't like the way his friends, his only true friends, could die at any moment of any day, possible thousands and thousands of miles away from home or help.

Or even Dick and the way his eyes were young and ancient at the same time, his body scarred more than any sixteen year olds had a right to ever be. More scars were added that night. More could be added the next.

And what was it all for anyway? Tonight a little girl is probably dead, and if not her, then someone else. He couldn't save her. He couldn't save his parent's marriage. What were they playing at? Saving people only so they could die another day? Child heroes falling in battles they never should have fought. The look of people in the halls after a hero dies is awful. Pretending like something, _someone_ isn't missing. They always been told, right from day one to toughen up and move forwards.

Ridiculous.

_Run run run._

Maybe Wally West was done playing hero.

"Come on, Robin, we're leaving."

…

**I need soda. And ideas.**

**Feel free to leave comments, and ideas,**

**KydChyme**


End file.
